


Reunion

by JackieSBlake7



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSBlake7/pseuds/JackieSBlake7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake returns to Gauda Prime</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly changed version of a story that appeared on a now-disappeared website.

The last time he had been here, more years ago than he cared to count, the planet had been called Gauda Prime and had been notorious throughout the region – a situation to which, he admitted, he had contributed in some small measure… for reasons logical at the time.  
It had since been renamed after the most significant event in its recent event – now, as he had already discovered in his brief time here, all but forgotten, along with the Federation that had collapsed soon after. There had been many causes for the old system’s transition to a more generally acceptable form. The rebels of course, those within the Federation seeking greater autonomy and those outside the Federation seeking to protect what they had. Economic and other tensions and fractures within the Federation had played a part, and the emphasis on expansion rather than consolidation that had allowed others to manipulate the situation to their advantage. How exactly they had all contributed to the transit, and the evolution of the present system, acceptable to most, was best left to the historians. He had come to understand that such analysts’ careers were made and broken during such discussions, the arguments pursued in their own way every bit as vicious as those within the administration, whatever the image of consensus presented to those outside in either case.  
This was now a peaceful world, devoted to agriculture and mining, the time of lawlessness warranting the merest of mentions in the history books. As someone had once said, the rebels had been fighting to create uninteresting worlds like this, where seemingly little or nothing ever happened.  
In short, Blake was looking at the triumph of all his dreams in a period when there was seemingly no need for heroes such as he had been. He was pleased – and he regretted what had been lost.  
Not the Federation as it had been of course, replaced by something that most rebels and their supporters were prepared to accept as a version of what they had aimed for. He, like others, missed the camaraderie, the feeling of doing something significant, and the pleasant feeling that he was famous and had earned his fame, and had contributed to the eventual downfall of the Federation, directly and by inspiring others, which was part of the prize of victory. The sense of loss, he accepted, was part of its price.

****

He had been inspired to make the journey that had led him here on hearing of the death of an ex-rebel he had been acquainted with. It was time, Blake decided, for what was probably the last reunion with those still surviving that he had known, much as he normally avoided gatherings of sometime rebels. Little connected the most of them at such events apart from their activities in the last years of the Federation, more years ago than many of them now wished to recall… and he disliked those for whom the rebel years were the highlight of a life that they had not cared to make interesting thereafter. At least he had some adventures since to look back on – as had most of his immediate colleagues, even if they had largely gone their separate ways… though they kept in touch.  
The setting up of the reunion had developed into a tour of many of the places he had been to as a rebel – which had been an interesting journey for many reasons. The two historian-researchers he had taken with him had thoroughly enjoyed themselves – and he would enjoy the books they wrote. They had even come across collections based around the rebel movement and its activities – some of them inspired by Sarkoff of Lindor’s activities, which would have interested the politician, whose name was associated with the activity – perhaps a legacy he would have wanted. Blake was amused by some of the ways in which he was portrayed and his activities interpreted, but had decided it was best not to correct his legends. He would have enjoyed living through some of the adventures that had become associated with his name.

****

There was now a village near the base where Blake had once operated. He had to get the key to unlock the entrance to the base – his base! – from one of the shopkeepers. His historians would follow shortly – he wanted to encounter the past by himself.  
‘Many people come here?’ Blake asked out of genuine curiosity.  
‘Local school kids, some tourists, reunions… The planet’s doesn’t get much visitors anyway. Not now – the revolution’s gone history now.’ Yet another of the local variants of Federation Standard – he had encountered many in his journeys. The shopkeeper took out a handful of postcards from a drawer: one had a representation that #might# have been Blake himself – he bought a couple as it was obviously the expected thing to do.  
Blake was somewhat regretful that his base was now obscure – but he had not come back before.  
‘There will probably be some others coming,’ he said. He had no idea who would be present.  
‘Reunion then, rememberings the good old days?’ the shopkeeper asked.   
‘Yes.’ It was the truth. ‘The name’s Blake.’  
‘And it’s Blake’s Base so you liked the idea.’  
Blake nodded and left, regretting that he had been #so# forgotten – and he could suddenly almost hear Avon’s comment on the subject.  
Perhaps, though, it was for the best. He was a different person to what he was then, living in a completely different society – and he had, in a way succeeded enough to pass into history while others rose to fame in what had been created. What was the saying – thus passes the glory of the world?  
It was a short walk to the base and the area in front of the entrance was full of plants. He knew he had been on the planet in spring, but he could not remember seeing a display like this… but the intent then had been to #not# draw attention to the place. Whoever had created this display had had enjoyment in doing so – and it was nothing to do with rebels and revolutions. As good a definition of the success of what he had set out to achieve as any.

The base was cool and dark after the sunlight. After a few moments he found the lights. The place as he walked through it was full of echoes, real and in his mind.  
Half of the place had been turned into a museum. Some rooms had been reconstructed – his own room was neater and more organised than it had been when he was here – and others contained displays about the rebel movement and the Federation. The history had been simplified, of course. As Avon had once said, with hindsight you always knew which path was taken, and forget what might have been.  
And the paths they had chosen had led to a confrontation borne of misunderstanding here, which had been resolved much more easily than they had any right to expect. Events elsewhere, and their part in the sequence of developments that had led to the Federation’s end, had contributed to that. As with the garden outside the interior arrangement was acceptable.

He had enjoyed himself tracking down all the rebels – and others – he could. Most of the Federation leaders were dead, given the passage of time, or living in near obscurity, not wishing to draw attention to their past, having created generally acceptable lives since. The lower grades had continued working as they had before – they had been neutral before and so remained – pay, personal interests, and promotion were more important than policies, and were replaced by others equally indifferent.  
The London had become, of all things, a luxury hotel, its previous role virtually forgotten. With a little help from one of the crew Blake had found a plaque commemorating the one-time prison ship’s most famous occupants, and had posed for a couple of pictures. Those left on the London were now probably as dusty as the plaque had been… would anyone eventually find them and be inspired to make the journey here? He had found his role elsewhere had often been relegated to a seemingly equally minor contribution – though there had been some interesting discussions, including a couple on how much he had resembled the resident statue of himself, with no connection being made. He had aged, though, and the statue had not.

And here he was, walking through an empty section of the base, wondering if the people he had known who had been here in the old days would come again.  
It was not clear whether this part had been left deliberately undeveloped or whether there had been insufficient resources to do anything with it. Probably a mixture of both – he was now in the further reaches of the base, rarely used even in the old days, and there was only so much left from the rebel times that would make its way to this place. This section of the base brought back memories far more than the main section. Others, it was clear, came this way occasionally. Blake wondered what they thought of this area. There was a faint chill to the passageways, and the shadows were as much in the echoes of his memories as in the absence of light. When he paused there was a stillness that disturbed, as if he somehow occupied a place outside time.

His path took him back towards the tracking gallery, full of other echoes and memories. For the first time he heard the sound of people talking: some of the voices sounded almost familiar. Blake felt pleased that he would be reunited with at least some of the people he had known, that what he had been planning for when he started the reunion was coming to pass. The others had come, he knew, because there might never be another chance for many of them to do so. Age was catching up with many, and others had settled into a life they were happy with.  
He stood at the tracking gallery door – no alarms, no need for protection, no threat now. There were half a dozen people already there, and from what he could catch of the conversation – even a passing mention of Servalan – others were coming. Orac sat on a convenient flat surface, flickering to itself – what would it and the historians make of each other? How long could Orac persist, repeating tales of those it had known or encountered down the ages… a brief regret that he would never hear more than a fraction of the history it would come to know. He could almost hear voices from the distant future regretting in turn that they would not meet him and his companions.  
The man nearest to him turned and Blake recognised him instantly, despite all the years since they had last met. He too had aged.  
‘We wondered where you’d got to,’ Avon said. ‘We were expecting you.’  
Blake walked towards him, remembering the last time they had met in this place, could see that the other man was sharing the same memories. When they were a pace apart Avon suddenly smiled. Blake reached out and hugged his friend. For a few moments he felt he was the age he had been when last here, rather than the fullness of present years.   
‘Oh Avon, I’ve missed you.’ They had exchanged messages throughout the years since they went their several ways, but the meeting was different.  
‘Perhaps,’ Avon said, extracting himself, ‘you should have said that the last time we met here.’ An admission of sorts.  
‘That,’ Blake replied, ‘would have been too simple – and too boring for us.’  
‘True.’ Avon smiled.  
‘Is that why you called us here?’ Vila, standing close by and also still recognisable, asked. ‘You are bored and want to start up a crusade again?’  
‘I thought,’ Avon said, ‘you were enjoying your retirement Vila.’  
‘I am. Sort of. But why else would Blake bring us together again, except to strike terror into the government of the day? And you were bored as well or you wouldn’t be here would you?’  
‘So why did you come Avon?’ Blake asked.  
‘Curiosity,’ Avon admitted. ‘And, you must admit, the present government needs something to stir it up.’ Something he had always enjoyed doing on the Liberator.  
This was not quite what Blake had intended, but… ‘Why not?’  
‘This time though,’ Vila said, ‘we leave holding off any alien invasion to those younger than us.’  
‘If you wish Vila. If there is another invasion.’ The defences had been strengthened and changed – there would be no repeat of what had happened last time.   
‘Do you realise Vila,’ Avon said, ‘what you’ve got us in to? We are going to become the first unofficial opposition where all the members are of retirement age…’ As ever Avon could manage a straight face when delivering a punch line.  
‘We could be in the history books – the first centenarian rebel movement even. More fun than retirement.’   
‘I will let people retire when they want,’ Blake said. The idea was amusing… no actually interesting, however far away the anniversaries were. Would they actually want to retire? He… would not.  
‘This time we discuss more things first.’  
‘Of course Avon. We also go exploring and investigating interesting things,’ he added, to avoid another discussion: he too had enjoyed such diversions. ‘And I trust you to bring it to my attention when I don’t.’ And if he didn’t, his pet historians would – more fun than keeping a log. They – or others of their kind – would enjoy coming along. What would they have recorded of the days when the group were on active service?  
‘And I trust you not to listen half the time.’  
‘One thing before we go any further,’ Vila asked. ‘Are we going back to the good old days or the bad old days? But – nobody’s after us as they were in the old days.’  
‘We could arrange that,’ Blake said, and half meant it. ‘Now what shall we do first?’  
‘Argue?’ Avon suggested.  
‘Let’s not start that again,’ Blake replied. ‘One last grand adventure…’


End file.
